Destiny
by starry-oblivion
Summary: As Harry goes off to his first private lesson with Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione have a serious discussion about the upcoming war and the sacrifices they'll have to make.


Harry looked at his watch and hurriedly put the old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ back into his bag. "It's five to eight, I'd better go, I'll be late for Dumbledore."

"Ooooh!" gasped Hermione, looking up at once. "We'll wait up, we want to hear what he teaches you!"

"Hope it goes okay," said Ron, and the pair of them watched Harry leave through the portrait hole. After he was gone, Ron looked back towards Hermione, intent on copying off at least a few more sentences of her essay on _The Principles of Rematerialization_. Instead, he was surprised to find that she was looking at him fairly strangely. Trying not to flush, he quickly forgot about homework as he asked, "What?"

"Why did you say that?"

Dumbfounded, Ron repeated, "What?"

"To Harry," Hermione clarified. "Why did you say that you hope his lesson goes okay? Surely, you don't think Professor Dumbledore will be teaching him anything _dangerous_. Especially not on the first night of lessons."

It was now Ron's turn to gaze at Hermione oddly. True, he had been speculating that Dumbledore would be privately tutoring Harry in the use of advanced hexes and the like, while Hermione argued that he was more likely to be schooling Harry in Defensive magic. Whichever way one chose to look at it, however, Ron thought it was obvious that whatever secret knowledge their best friend learned from the Headmaster, there was no way that it _couldn't_ be dangerous.

"Hermione," Ron said levelly, "in case you haven't noticed, we're sort of in the middle of a war. If Harry's got to face off against You-Know-Who before the end, then I don't reckon Dumbledore will be wasting much time getting to the dangerous bits of his training."

"There won't _be_ any dangerous bits!" Hermione quickly shot back. Ron noticed that she was sitting absolutely rigid in her chair, as though trying to draw herself up to her full height. She usually only ever did that when they were in the midst of an argument, which – though it happened fairly frequently – took him by surprise this time. Since when were they arguing?

"Come off it," he scoffed, more than ready to carry on with this disagreement he somehow found himself in. "Have you read the papers? Have you seen how many people are getting picked off, one way or the other? If Harry's gonna stand half a chance against You-Know-Who, I'd rather it's Dumbledore that gets him used to the serious dueling than have him getting caught unawares."

"Oh, Ron, can't you just shut up?!"

Ron didn't know if it was her uncharacteristic bluntness that made him close his mouth or if it was the way Hermione covered her face in her hands, completely oblivious to the fact that her elbow had knocked over her ink bottle. Mutely watching the black liquid seeping across the table, he vaguely wondered just how upset she must be for him to have actually noticed. After all, she'd nearly ruined her essay without so much as a flinch. That was _not_ like her.

Taking out his wand, he muttered a half-hearted "_Scourgify_" that managed to at least partially get rid of the spilled ink before it marred her parchment. He reached out a hand, but instead of touching her comfortingly as he'd intended, Ron merely righted the overturned ink bottle. "Er," he brought up, "did I say something wrong?"

"When _don't_ you?"

Though the words stung, Ron couldn't muster up a heated retort, not with the way she was covering her face. If he somehow made Hermione cry, then damn it, he should at least know _how_.

"Would you mind letting me know what that something was?" Ron asked.

It was a while before Hermione lowered her hands, and Ron felt an overwhelming amount of relief to see that there was no evidence of tears. He was less happy to notice that she seemed very distressed, but as girls cry for the slightest reason, no tears had to be a good sign, right?

"It doesn't matter what I read in the _Prophet_," she said flatly, her eyes downcast. "Because it's in the _Prophet_, not here, you see?"

"No," Ron replied honestly, "I don't. You know that whatever's in the _Prophet_ is happening in the world, so-"

"That's just it," Hermione interjected, looking up at Ron. "I know it's happening, but it isn't happening _here_. I don't see it. I'm not in the thick of it. Even though I know I might open up the paper any morning and find that Tonks or Lupin or – Heaven forbid – one of your brothers have been hurt or… or worse, I can still afford to be detached somewhat. But with you going on about Harry needing to put himself in danger, needing to be the one to face off You-Know-Who, being _prophesized_ to either end the pain or make the ultimate sacrifice for no good reason…."

There was no mistaking it now. Hermione was sobbing, right there in the middle of the common room. Ron shifted uncomfortably and wondered if he could use his status as prefect to toss the handful of onlookers into a closet until this whole thing blew over.

"Don't you see, Ron?" Hermione finally managed to sniffle. "I don't want to think about Harry needing to kill or be killed. Even though he's a marvelous fighter, he's only sixteen! What chance does he have? What if he d- d-… what if he-?"

"Shut up."

Hermione blinked at Ron through the tears, looking absolutely scandalized by both his words and the low, threatening way he said them. Casting a glance around the room and deciding that he didn't like the attention, Ron stood up, walked towards Hermione, and grabbed her upper arm, nudging his head to indicate that she follow him. Though she didn't like the grip on her arm, she liked the idea of causing a scene even less, and so she rose to her feet and allowed Ron to lead her towards the empty staircase to the boys' dormitory.

Once they were away from prying eyes, Ron all but shoved Hermione towards a wall, careful not to actually hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted, but he wanted to be sure that she understood the extent of his anger. His voice quiet, he began, "If I ever, _ever_ hear you talking like that again…."

Not seeming to come up with an appropriate enough threat that he'd actually be willing to carry out, Ron instead said, "Harry defeated Quirrell _and_ You-Know-Who when he was eleven. He saved my sister's life when he was twelve. When he was thirteen, he fought off hordes of Dementors. Fourteen, he escaped from You-Know-Who _and_ a bunch of Death Eaters, and even managed to win the Triwizard Tournament while he was at it. At fifteen, he snuck a bunch of kids into the Ministry and _again_ beat back the Death Eaters and shook off You-Know-Who. And now you think he won't fulfill his destiny because he's 'only sixteen?' What, are you _daft_, woman?!"

"Don't give me this 'destiny' nonsense!" Hermione hissed out, after repeatedly trying to interrupt Ron once she saw where this was going. "Prophecy or no prophecy, Divination's a dodgy topic! You should know that, Ron!"

"I do!"

"Then don't talk about destiny when we both know that what got Harry this far is an extraordinary amount of skill and luck!"

"Luck?" Ron asked, aghast. "_Luck?!_"

"More skill than luck, surely!" Hermione corrected.

"But still luck rather than destiny?"

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione uttered, "Of course!"

Ron gaped at Hermione for a moment, not knowing what to say. He _wanted_ to say that she sure was stupid for such a smart person, but he didn't much fancy this fight turning physical. Instead, he breathed out, "You're so lucky you're a girl. If you were a bloke, I'd wallop you!"

Trying not to look as stunned by the admission as she actually was, Hermione haughtily replied, "And since when did _you_ try to emulate a gentleman?"

Ignoring the sarcastic question, Ron said, "Let me ask you something: do you think it was _luck_ that made it so Harry would ask _my_ mum for help getting onto Platform 9 ¾ his first time riding the Hogwarts Express? You think it was _luck_ that made it so all the other compartments were full and I was forced to ask the most famous boy of our time if I could sit with him? You think it was lucky that he let me, that he took to me? And I suppose you think it was luck at work when you opened the door to our compartment while searching for Neville's toad?"

"I asked _everyone_ if they'd seen Trevor!" Hermione blurted out.

"Then it sure was lucky that Harry and I saved you from that troll, eh?" Ron steamrollered on. "No, hold on, I'll tell you what was lucky: the lot of us becoming friends and just happening to have all the right skills for beating the trials leading to the Philosopher's Stone! That sure was some amazing luck there!"

Knowing when she was being belittled, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and icily said, "If you've a point, Ronald, please feel free to get to it before your throat goes hoarse."

"The _point_ is," Ron shot back, "that while luck exists, it only gets so far before it becomes coincidence. And coincidence only goes so far before it becomes something else."

"What?" Hermione asked. "Fate? Don't tell me you actually believe this whole 'Chosen One' rubbish."

"Why not?" Ron inquired, shrugging his shoulders. "Most who read the _Prophet_ do. Dumbledore does. And apparently, so does You-Know-Who. And that's what matters. Whether or not you want to think about it, he's gonna come after Harry sooner or later, if only to prove that he's not afraid of him. And the fact is… Harry might not make it."

Hermione was about to scold him for being as nay-saying as she'd been only moments ago, but a look into his downcast eyes proved that he wasn't being flippant. He'd actually thought about this. Ron Weasley actually had a serious thought in his head, despite the fact that he had never once brought it up.

"It's not something I like to think about," he admitted, as though reading her mind. "Who wants to think about the idea of their best friend dying and dooming the rest of us, right? But more importantly, who _needs_ to think about it? He's here now, and he's gonna learn all he can to win this, and all I can do as a friend is make sure I'm there with him in the end, no matter _how_ this plays out."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he surprised her by looking up earnestly and continuing on, as though proving he really _did_ place a lot of thought in this. "Fine, maybe it doesn't matter what you call it. Destiny, coincidence, luck; either way, I'm with Harry for a reason. And I don't know what that reason is or how this is all gonna turn out, but I'll tell you one thing: Harry's not facing him alone. I'll be with him until it ends, however it ends. No number of curses or Death Eaters is gonna change that."

He said nothing else, deciding that Hermione was probably bursting with the need to throw in her two knuts. As it was, though, she merely stared at him with a decisively odd expression on her face, making Ron wonder if he'd said something monumentally stupid.

Sure enough, she soon declared, "You're positively mad, Ron Weasley." He blinked in surprised even as Hermione's face broke into a strangely gentle smile. "_We'll_ be with him. Always."

After a brief pause, Ron nodded, knowing full well that it'd be pointless to try and dissuade Hermione from anything, especially when it involved helping Harry. "It's always been us," he affirmed. "The three of us. And I know one thing; I'm not letting anything happen to either one of you, and my mum would be fierce if she lost one of her kids, so You-Know-Who's gonna have his hands full with a bunch of ticked-off Weasleys if he tries anything and I get caught in the crossfire."

"And a Granger." The words hung in the air for a moment before Hermione flushed slightly. "I'm not losing you, Ron. If I did…."

"You just said you're not," he interrupted, feeling a bit of heat inexplicably rising to his face. "And you're never wrong. So there we go, nobody's losing anybody, and all we've got to worry about right now is Flitwick's essay. Speaking of, I still need another four inches on mine, and as you're already past the requirements, it wouldn't hurt to let me have another peek, would it?"

"Ron, I'm not going to let you cheat!"

"Who's cheating? It's called helping! That's what friends do, right?"

She eyed him warily before deflating a little, sighing, "Just don't steal my conclusion, all right? I worked really hard on it."

"I'll only borrow it," he promised with a smirk, backing away so that he was no longer crowding her in the stairway. Suddenly remorseful, he asked, "I didn't, er, hurt you or anything when I… I was just upset, is all, hearing you talk like that-"

"I'm fine," she quickly replied, brushing it off as she moved past him and began walking back towards the common room. "I can understand your reaction. I was being stupidly fatalistic; if the tables were turned, I think I _would_ have hurt _you_."

"I don't doubt it," Ron murmured, following her back to where their respective essays were waiting for them. "Let's just… not talk like that again until we have to, all right? It sort of hurts my head."

"Having a serious discussion hurts your head?" Hermione scoffed incredulously.

"It's a condition!" Ron shot back, not without a small smile touching the corners of his lips.

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, Hermione sat back down at her seat. Noting the mess of smeared ink on the table that stopped just before it got to her parchment, she cleared the rest of the spill off before glancing up at Ron as he resumed his seat. "Thank you for saving my homework."

"Any time," he replied, picking up his quill. "Besides, half of it is _my_ homework too, isn't it?" Seeing Hermione's eyes flash with indignation, he turned back to his own essay, grumbling, "I don't see why we can share destinies and not share a bloody essay."

Though he didn't see it and wouldn't understand it if he had, Hermione stared at Ron with a faint smile for a few moments, chewing over the idea of sharing a destiny with someone. Shaking her head, she concluded that it was all rubbish and went back to proofreading her conclusion.


End file.
